Universal Commonground: Sports and Spectators
by Izzy Antaeta
Summary: While on an observational mission to Earth, a seasoned predator warrior and his young pupils encounter a professional football game.


Disclaimer: I dun own the preds. :T So dun sue me.  
  
  
  
The leader could only watch, bewildered by the spectacle before him. In all his experience, all his years in the hunt, he was left befuddled and without answer when his students questioned the sight before them.  
As he absorbed more of it, he began to understand the brief reason for such a mass gathering of oomans, and combined with his previous knowledge of them, he was able to give his pupils some answers and explanations. The only thing he could contrive this to be was sport of some kind, much like the trials his own people participated in.  
More oomans then he could count had collected themselves in the massive oblong building. All the way around the, the walls rose to great heights, providing seating for the multitude of oomans. The body heat of so many individuals created a giant red blur in the yautja's vision, making it difficult to decipher what was occurring.  
The building had no roof, completely open and susceptible to prominent weather conditions. On the floor of the great coliseum was a grassy field, marked strangely with a series of white lines and writing. On the field were a selected number of oomans. Almost all of them were armored, donning colorful helmets and garments as well. The leader noticed immediately that none of them carried weapons. Some of the armored oomans were large and bulky, others were smaller and leaner.  
Time and again, the armored oomans would line themselves up on the different white lines, moving up and down across the field, in constant pursuit of a small object being thrown about. Then, the action would halt, and some of the armored oomans would leave the field, only to be replaced by more, working in shifts.  
As the armored oomans moved around the field, the oomans seated around the walls, spectators, the leader guessed, would bellow and create great noise, not unlike the yautja themselves would do when watching two combatants challenge each other.  
The leader's students inched forward on the rooftop to gain better access to the view, their youthful eyes glistening beneath their helms as they watched the armored oomans run at each other and collide with a reverberating crunch. Some of them began to chatter, their mandibles clicking together at the prospect of so many oomans engaging in Jehdin/Jehdin combat at the same time.  
The leader hissed a warning at them to remain quiet as they perched and squatted on the roof's edge, completely enveloped by the ooman sport. He turned his attention back to the coliseum full of oomans. He did not worry about his students. They were handchosen, their clan's finest and most promising. Theirs was a mission more of surveillance and observation, rather then the hunt. And knowledge they had certainly gained, for even the seasoned warrior himself chosen to lead them knew not what these crazy oomans were doing.  
Just then he noticed a shift among the many seated oomans, as they stood and reseated themselves in a successive fashion, appearing as a great line, a wave, moving around the coliseum. What in the name of Cetanu he muttered beneath his breath, his features forming an incredulous guffaw at the spectator's actions. It vaguely resembled the Kainde amedha, their attack moving in similar waves when the sanctity of their hive was violated by a yautja huntsman.  
His disgust with the oomans was not shared by his young protégé's, for they began to hoot and holler at the spectacle, becoming mindlessly duped into cheering for the ooman sport.  
The noise they emitted in such annoying volume, coupled with the incessant shrieking by the oomans began to wring in his aged ears, his brow knitting in aggravation. To make things worse, the ooman screaming seemed to increase as a direct result of the changing symbols and writing on a large illuminated board that loomed over one end of the coliseum.  
The leader scowled beneath his helm. How ludicrous. He could not fathom how this "sport" could command such a large amount of shouting fans. There was no apparent honor in purposely running into one's opponent merely for the sake of colliding with him. There was no finesse, no style, no technique, and yet the spectator oomans swarmed over it on the brink of a stadium-wide brawl.  
He snorted in disgust. Animals, he thought, These oomans really are animals. He risked a glance at the handful of young warriors only to find them still crooning over the spectacle with obvious fervor. Even more disconcerting then the ooman "sport" was the encouragement his young troupe seemed to offer.  
Surrounded by overwhelming unintelligence, the dutiful leader recollected the attentions of his pupils, albeit with difficulty as some of them found him to be far less interesting then the ooman game.  
Silently they drifted away, disappearing again into the night sky, unseen would-be fans and their cranky old leader.  



End file.
